multiversallogs | Bite they little heads off! Nibble on they tiny feet!

Bite they little heads off! Nibble on they tiny feet!

Who: EVERYONE.
What: Catenrat party.
Where: The Apache and surrounding environs.
When: Givdi the 22nd of Toidaren
Notes: The topic threads are just suggestions; if you've got somewhere else that your characters simply must be, make your own thread. When your characters are ready to leave, they'll be given a little wooden cheese, a glass fish, and a voucher for a big basket of snacks.
Warnings: None yet. Please put warnings up on individual threads.

The Apache is much the same as it always is: dimly lit, with the jukebox playing in the background, and the bartender serving whatever's on tap. Above the doorway and wound through a few of the sets of antlers some enterprising soul has placed a garland decorated with little blue and green fish.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Outside is a good enough place to escape, even though it's sharply colder out here than it was in there. There's melted snow on the concrete ground, along with cigarette butts and discarded beer cans. Good enough to have a quick smoke, be alone with your thoughts, and lurk in the shadows.

It's cooler and quieter outside than the bar itself, and more private than the courtyard that's still busy; it feels like more or less what Ilde needs after the film ends and she excuses herself quietly from Ivan's side for a while. She doesn't bother putting a coat over her dress, built to suit cold weather and prone to finding her feet slightly damp regardless of what she's wearing or where she is.

A rhinemaiden thing, she explained once to one of her students.

After a few moments in the quiet, she lights a cigarette (pack lifted from Ivan's jacket as she slipped out).

Unlike Ilde, Hilmi is dressed warmly. Tonight it's simply a warm wool coat around 'going-out clothes'. He doesn't put a lot of thought into these things.

When Ilde leaves the bar, he follows her. This is the opportunity Hilmi has been waiting for: a quiet moment removed from the crowd wherein he can corner Ilde and find out where she's been. She was supposed to be home on whatever passed for Sunday around here. It's now Wednesday. Worse, he hasn't heard from her. Ilde isn't his girlfriend to monitor, but she's the closest he has to family - and if there's one thing Hilmi hated as a child, it was the adults not doing the things they said they would. He's finding Sonja and Ilde are the adults in this situation, and Ilde is dropping the ball.

Clearly, then, something is wrong with the world. (The irony of that idea isn't lost on him.)

He sidles up beside her and, instead of immediately pressing for information, produces his own cigarette. "Got a light?"

"--Hilmi." The startle is subtle, but that's her all over; everything is understated until it isn't any more. People are used to her being so still, but the way she absents herself is more noticeable right now, a more palpable sense of distance that she's still edging back from, and she's not quite there yet. Not quite present.

"Right," half to herself, and then she holds out her lighter. "Yes."

He doesn't let her light for him; he takes it from her, his eyes on her face rather than the exchange. For a moment, his brows draw together in a markedly clear expression of confusion and concern. Not something others get, this openness. There is the Hilmi who lures unsuspecting women to bed and disappears afterward, and then there's the Hilmi who is, right now, growing steadily more worried about his not-friend.

"Thanks." He turns away to cup the end of his cigarette as he lights it, inhales, puffs, draws the lighter away and takes a long drag before releasing a stream of mingled smoke and condensation. It doesn't occur to him to treat her like one of the Manhattan people, using subtlety and subterfuge to maneuver her into talking. Instead, he holds her lighter hostage as though it might keep her from stomping off and is very nearly accusatory when he comments, "You didn't come back on Shundi."

It's more of an accusation than a question, and so Ilde opts not to treat it as the latter; the fingers of one hand curl under her palm, tightly, and her expression blanks interestingly. No distress, no upset, but no response, either, just-- cool distance, like she's not even there.

"No," she says, matter of fact, her eyes on his hands and her lighter. A pause, quieter, "No."

Explaining this is not something she really wants to have to do, but she's not entirely sure how to get out of this conversational pot hole again; it's much easier if she can make sure people don't notice anything in the first place. That's how it usually works. She's good at deflecting, when she's more in control of what people see, but the absence of any reaction is indicative of just how uncomfortable she is.

"I...decided to stay. For a while."

Edited 2011-12-23 12:34 (UTC)

The fact that Hilmi notices the way her expression blanks and thinks nothing of it is just another tally mark for him either in his complete inability to be empathetic with his comrades or in the long column dedicated to self-centered behavior.

He does better with words than with reading emotions - and it is he reply that puts him off lecturing her about keeping her promises or some other such silly concept. There's something wrong with how she's responding, even if he can't put his finger on it.

So he goes for the most obvious route: asking. "You okay?"

He asks curiously, with a hint of concern he rarely shows anyone, much less Ilde, whom he once called a bitch for some stupid reason or another, who cockblocks him and makes him feel guilty for enjoying his privileges in life, who drives him up a wall and makes him hate whatever the hell his life has become. Ilde, who is screwing a vampire and is right now very much and very obviously not okay. "You seem upset."

The attempt she makes at a half-way reassuring smile here is small and taut, if not outright unconvincing. There's a brittle-thinness to her mood and manner, a tightrope walker made of glass, and it's not as well-hidden as she'd ordinarily like.

"I'm fine," she says, because she always does, "It's just a little busy in there for me." That's almost normal. Finding the quietest place at a party was a knack even before she started feeling the need to do it for her own mental health. She's slipped out of parties in Baedal before just because there were so many people-- she feels oddly reassured by her reasoning, even if it doesn't release any tension.

Hilmi studies her long enough without smoking that when he finally remembers to ash, the cigarette's a quarter wasted. He looks away and gives it a practiced flick with his thumb.

"You know," he starts with a frown, "If you need to talk..."

The offer hangs there. It's not a good offer; it's rather the sort given by someone who doesn't know how to handle being a shoulder to cry on. If she needs to talk, he'll listen, but he's not sure what he can do to help.

What it lacks in general usefulness, it slightly makes up for in 'being startling' and 'evident sincerity'; Ilde scrutinizes him like she's trying to find a flaw in that, momentarily bewildered by the attempt at thoughtfulness. That, at least, is more commonplace than not -- Ivan's remarked how she always seems disappointed when she can't pick holes in something he's just said, and he's not wrong. In this case, though, it's more momentary puzzlement as it dawns on her that he doesn't appear to be screwing with her.

"...thank you," she says after a moment, with some effort; she wants to dismiss it out of hand, she wants to say I don't need that because she doesn't, she's fine, she'll be fine, there are so many ways in which this is not a subject open for discussion. She also, on the other hand, wants to continue poking Hilmi in the direction of decency, and not discourage any efforts he makes on his own. Like 'caring about her', however odd and unexpectedly.

She exhales smoke, wrapping her free hand around herself, and says, "It's okay." It's not. "But thank you. I'll probably be home tomorrow."

Stubbing out his half-finished cigarette - a sign of wastefulness he hasn't yet managed to overcome - he then shoves his hands in the pocket of his coat. He no longer wants to be out here because this is awkward for him. Ilde is one of two constants here in Baedal for Hilmi, and she is behaving oddly. He wants to go back inside where there's too much noise and too large a crowd and lose himself in it so he doesn't have to think about why the woman beside him is so obviously not here.

But he can't just leave. It isn't concern, but his own pressing need for reassurance. "You sure about that?"

Promise? he means. If he were a child, he would sound wheedling and hopeful. Instead, his query is just...dubious.

"Tomorrow," she repeats, trying to sound slightly more solid in her decision; she can't hide at Ivan's forever, after all. (If they were ever moving in together, Ilde accepts it as a given that he'd be obliged to move in with her; his apartments are about as personally significant as hotel rooms.) "I'll see you at home in the morning."

That satisfies him enough for the moment; Hilmi is quite a simple creature, or so he believes of himself. Though there is some niggling doubt in the back of his mind (something is wrong, very wrong) he decides it's probably just the time and place and possibly Ilde's period.

Or something.

In any case, he's off the hook where emotional support is concerned, so he gives her a fleeting smile in lieu of a farewell and turns to head back in.

He's tired, anymore, and the three pints of beer in his belly are not helping matters. He is not going to embarrass himself by getting sleepy in the middle of a party. Fresh air ought to help.

He ducks outside, leaning against the wall opposite the Apache's door. He takes a deep breath in, letting his eyes fall closed, savoring how cool the air is. It's more quiet out here, too, but that's all right. A few moments' peace never hurt anyone.

Another deep breath, and he can feel his body starting to settle, coaxed to cool down and be still by the crisp edge to the evening air.

Olivia isn't precisely dragging as she is coming down with an acute case of culture shock. She escapes into the cold with a sigh of relief that puffs out her cheeks for a moment as she exhales. She looks up from watching her steps to ensure she doesn't catch a discarded bottle -- already done that once -- to spy the man across from her. That she blinks twice, caught off her guard, is only because she's just finished her third pint.

She smiles, not tired but somewhat weary. "Hi there. Quite the party, isn't it?"

"Yeah." He pushes off the wall, straightening up. It's Starfleet training about conducting yourself with proper comportment just as much as it's being in the presence of a lady that makes him stop slouching, rise to his full height, and summon a friendly smile.

"Yeah, it is. Seems like the entire city's in there, somehow. It's fun, but I needed a minute. You?"

"A minute, or five," Olivia admits easily. "I'm still kind of... absorbing everything. I don't know why I thought diving head-first into a party this big would help." She laughs and shakes her head ruefully. "Make or break me, I suppose. Put me in front of an anomaly that could potentially tear apart the universe, and I won't flinch. But this..."

Her eyes get wide for a moment, pulling a face at her own expense. "Sorry. I'm oversharing. I've either had too much beer, or not enough." She offers out her hand, shaking off her jitters for a moment. "I'm Olivia."

He shakes his head, holding up a hand to indicate it's just fine. He enjoys people who speak their minds, being one himself.

"It's fine," he says, chuckling. "Don't worry about it. And I'm Jim," he tells her as he shakes her hand, "Jim Kirk. Sounds like you're new-ish to the city, unless I misunderstand?"

"No, you got that right. Not a fresh arrival, but still in that adjustment period." Olivia threads her thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans. "It's nice to meet you. You been here long yourself?"

"It's been, um..."

He has to pause to think about it, and that disturbs him mildly, to think he's been here so long the length of time isn't an exact number at the forefront of his thoughts anymore.

"Four months or so. Sometimes I swear it feels like I'm still adjusting. You found work yet?"

She bites her lip, a little sheepish as she admits, "Not yet. Nothing permanent. I run an odd errand here and there, but..." A small sigh escapes her lips. "I keep telling myself that I'll figure out how to get home soon, so I shouldn't get myself invested in anything here." The quirk to Olivia's lips is somewhat sad, "Even though all evidence points to that being impossible."

"I understand. I did the same myself. Didn't commit to anything full-time because I was sure I was getting out." He offers a sympathetic look. "But I've been making an informal study of the place, and I gotta admit, our chances don't look good. I'm not giving up, though."

"They really don't..." She doesn't dwell on the futility of that statement and instead perks up a bit. "So, did you find work? Are they hiring? I used to be with the Department of Defense before I came here. I'm not sure how well those skills translate to something available here, though..."

He smiles, mildly amused by her response. "All kinds of skills wind up translating, if in unexpected ways," he explains. "I'm a consultant to Hellsing, the Guild for Battling Preternatual Horrors. On-call crisis management and training, mostly in self-defense or hand-to-hand combat. I'm also teaching self-defense classes at one of the city's gyms."

The organization she named sounds familiar; Jim racks his brain a few moments before he comes up with the reference, from history classes. It was an agency from his planet's past, an organization tasked with coordinating national security and overseeing the armed forces of the United States of America. At least, he assumes that's the country she means, based on her accent.

"I'm guessing I'm a couple centuries ahead of you, but I'm more or less a military officer. That's how I've gotten my relevant skills and experience to translate. What did you do for the Department of Defense?"

"Hellsing. That's a name I've heard a couple times before." One she knows she really should have followed up on. Resigning herself to this place definitely means it's worth looking into now.

Her brows lift when he makes his estimate of their relevant positions in the history of their (theoretically) shared universe. "Centuries? I don't know why that surprised me." She laughs it off. "I'm in Fringe Division. We investigate abnormal occurrences. Things that threaten the stability of our universe. I'd say advanced scientific breakthroughs, but I suppose they'd be antiquated where you come from."

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